Chapter 118 The Father’s Wish #2
"Promise me you will not make the exact same tragic mistakes that I made," Moises whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate urgency.
"I spent my entire adult life rotting in Vincent's shadow. I allowed him to claim the historical glory for my execution. I let him act as the grand face of the empire while I willingly receded into the background. I never once truly stood up and fought for the recognition I rightfully deserved.
And I regret it, Carlos. Every single day that I lie in this bed, I regret it."
"I am not going to make that mistake, Dad," Carlos promised, his voice an iron vow. "I am going to take back what belongs to us."
"Good," Moises murmured, exhaling a shallow breath. "But promise me something else, son. Promise me you won't sacrifice your soul for a throne. Do not allow the corporate warfare to completely consume the man you are. Do not lose absolute sight of what actually matters when the dust settles."
Carlos looked down at their joined hands. "And what actually matters, Dad?"
"Love," Moises stated simply, a profound clarity in his eyes.
"True family. Real connection. The quiet, unpurchasable things that actually make a human life worth living. I spent so much of my youth fighting for corporate recognition, for elite respect, for my designated square footage at the Mason Industries table,
that I completely forgot to appreciate the true wealth I already possessed. Your mother. You. The real life we built away from the office. Do not make that mistake, Carlos."
Carlos felt an intense, painful tightness constrict his throat. "I won't."
"If this Teresa Stewart is someone truly special," Moises continued, his voice fading back into a raspy whisper as fatigue claimed him, "do not let her slip through your fingers simply because the politics are complicated.
Do not allow our family's sins to destroy something that could have been real."
"I don't even know if she will agree to hear my terms," Carlos said quietly.
"Then make her understand exactly why she should," Moises instructed, his eyelids growing heavy.
"Show her that you are not merely offering her a cold transaction, Carlos. Show her that you genuinely see her. That you value her genius. Show her that you are offering her a true partner... something far greater than just a signature on a check."
Carlos offered a slow, deliberate nod, his analytical mind already racing at a million miles an hour as his father drifted back into a deep sleep.
He was scheduled to meet Teresa at a private café in less than two hours. He was walking into that meeting intending to ask her to become his contract wife - to execute a calculated corporate merger that would seamlessly solve both of their survival dilemmas.
But looking down at his dying father, Carlos felt the rigid boundaries of his plan beginning to blur. Perhaps Moises was right. Perhaps this didn't have to be entirely cold.
Perhaps it could become something magnificent. If Teresa was brave enough to take the gamble with him.
Teresa - The Doubt
Teresa Stewart stood dead in front of her open closet doors, staring blankly at her wardrobe as a mounting wave of pure anxiety took hold of her chest. She was trying to decide on an outfit to meet Carlos Mason.
This is completely ridiculous, she scolded herself mentally, tossing a hanger onto her bed. It is just coffee. A standard, casual conversation between two people who met at an art show. Nothing more.
Except she knew, with absolute certainty, that it wasn't just coffee.
Carlos had reached out to her specifically, his deep voice over the phone indicating that he had something of immense importance to discuss with her.
He had gone entirely out of his way to locate her, sweet-talking her personal contact information out of the Hartley Gallery director less than twenty-four hours after walking out the door.
The question haunting her was simple: Why?
Teresa pulled out a structured navy day dress, then immediately shoved it back onto the rack.
Too formal. Looks like a corporate interview.
She reached for a casual oversized sweater and distressed denim.
Too casual. Looks like I'm hiding in my studio.
She finally settled on a sleek, well-tailored white silk blouse and dark, high-waisted trousers - a perfect balance of professional poise and artistic independence.
As she frantically finished getting ready, her mind continued to spin through a labyrinth of frantic possibilities.
Perhaps Carlos genuinely wanted to acquire her featured blue and crimson masterpiece for his personal collection.
Perhaps he was interested in acting as an angel investor for her Dumbo warehouse gallery space.
Perhaps he simply wanted to continue the fascinating, electric conversation about artistic honesty they had shared in the gallery shadows.
Or perhaps this meeting was driven by a much darker, much more calculated agenda.
Teresa froze, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she recalled the intense, breathless way Carlos had looked at her. She remembered the sharp, immediate jolt of electricity that had shot straight up her arm the exact moment his hand had wrapped around hers.
And then, like a bucket of ice water, Celina’s fierce, protective warning echoed in her ears:
"Carlos is Justin's estranged cousin, Teresa. He is back in Manhattan to launch a brutal corporate war against my husband. He is dangerous, and he is a Mason. I do not want to see you get caught in the crossfire of their family sins."
Teresa knew she should cancel the meeting.
She should text the number Carlos had left her, fabricate a sudden studio emergency, and completely cut ties before the first card was even dealt.
She needed to protect her own peace, her independent career, and her deep loyalty to Celina from whatever toxic family complications this meeting would undoubtedly unleash.
But even as she stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the keypad, she knew she wasn't going to back down.
Because something about Carlos Mason had managed to slide completely under her skin in the span of a single conversation.
Something about the way he had analyzed her artwork - not as pretty shapes, but as raw, bleeding human emotion - haunted her.
Something about the quiet, fiercely intense aura of loneliness he carried beneath his billionaire armor called out to her own isolated existence.
It felt like a dangerous, terrifying possibility.
Teresa took a deep, centering breath, grabbed her leather bag, and headed out the door into the cool Brooklyn afternoon.
She would meet Carlos. She would sit across from him, drink her coffee, and hear out whatever proposition he had traveled across an ocean to deliver.
And then, she would make her own decision.
But as she walked down the street toward the designated Chelsea café, her heart racing and her thoughts spinning out of control, she couldn't shake a heavy, profound intuition settling deep into her bones.
Whatever Carlos Mason wanted to discuss with her today... it was poised to change the trajectory of her life forever.
Celina - The Discovery
Celina Quinn Mason sat at the sleek mahogany desk inside her executive office at Quinn & Co., her piercing gaze locked entirely on the glowing screen of her phone.
She had just received an urgent, back-channel text message from the director of the Hartley Gallery - a close personal connection who had helped coordinate Teresa’s exclusive showcase the previous night.
Gallery Director: Just wanted to give you a quick heads-up, Celina - Carlos Mason contacted my office first thing this morning demanding Teresa’s personal contact information. He was incredibly insistent, so I ended up releasing it to him. I truly hope that’s alright?
Celina felt her stomach instantly drop into a freezing void of pure panic.
Carlos had hunted down Teresa’s number. Less than twenty-four hours after touching down in New York, the black sheep of the Mason family was actively inserting himself into her best friend's life.
Why?
Celina immediately dialed Teresa’s number, her knuckles turning white as she waited. It rang through to the end before dropping straight to voicemail.
"Damn it, Teresa," Celina muttered, slamming the phone down onto her desk. She dialed again. Still, nothing but the hollow tone of the automated voicemail greeting.
Celina surged to her feet, pacing the length of her glass office as her analytical mind violently raced through the tactical scenarios.
Carlos Mason was Justin's estranged, exiled cousin.